


The Milestone Series: Year Four

by Aggie2011



Series: Vantage Point Universe [13]
Category: The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Family, Friendship, Gen, No Slash
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-10-22
Updated: 2013-10-22
Packaged: 2017-12-30 04:10:57
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,446
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1013939
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Aggie2011/pseuds/Aggie2011
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Clint's had a rough year in the wake of his decision let Natasha Romanoff live when he was supposed to kill her. He returns from a six week mission in Siberia just in time to celebrate his four year anniversary of joining SHIELD with Phil. The two take a trip and not only build some new memories, but remember some old. *Vantage Point Universe* NO SLASH * Pre-Avengers</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Milestone Series: Year Four

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: I do not own the Avengers or any of the characters affiliated with them. If I did, there would totally be a Hawkeye/Black Widow movie in the works.
> 
> And we're back again! With the next installment in the Milestones Series! If you haven't read "Year One", "Year Two" or "Year Three", it's okay because this one can stand on its own. But you could totally go back and read those...I'd love that ;D
> 
> This is the fourth in a series of one-shots in my "Vantage Point Universe", which is an Avengers universe centered around the character Clint Barton. This story takes place following the events of What No One Else Sees - my story that tells the tale of how Clint brought Natasha into SHIELD. 
> 
> On to "Year Four" which actually borders on fluffy! Yay!

_Sooner or later we all discover that the important moments in life are not the advertised ones, not the birthdays, the graduations, the weddings, not the great goals achieved. The real milestones are less prepossessing. They come to the door of memory unannounced, stray dogs that amble in, sniff around a bit and simply never leave. Our lives are measured by these._

**_Susan B. Anthony_ **

* * *

Phil Coulson watched the SHIELD quinjet taxi into the hangar and power down. He made his way towards its rear bay door and watched the ramp lower. He couldn't hold back a grin as Clint came trotting down, six week's worth of dark blonde beard covering his face, a large black parka stuffed under his arm, his quiver hooked over his shoulder, and his two bags grasped in his left hand.

"Phil!" Clint greeted enthusiastically, spreading his arms out wide and then dropping them back to his side as he continued down the ramp.

"Welcome back," Phil smiled broadly, shaking his agent's hand firmly and gripping his shoulder affectionately. He immediately reached to take Clint's weapons bag and go-bag. Clint reached to adjust the dark navy baseball hat he had resting backwards on his head.

"I was sure I wasn't going to make it back by today when the intel transmission almost didn't go through. I just _knew_ they were going to sentence me to another six weeks there."

"I had a team of techs up for thirty six hours trying to fix the problem," Phil revealed, watching as Clint signed a form brought to him by the Hangar Operator, relinquishing responsibility for the jet.

"When I got the confirmation I couldn't clear out fast enough. If there were speed limits in the sky, I swear I broke all of them."

"I'm glad you're back, and just in time."

"About that," Clint scowled slightly, "I didn't get you anything this year. Somehow I didn't think a chuck of frozen earth from northern Siberia would really mean much."

"Hey, you're here. That's enough," Phil assured, leading the way towards the hangar exit.

"Yeah, barely. Did you know when you're sitting in a tree in below freezing weather for ten hours you can actually _feel_ each cell of your ass at is freezes?"

"That's fascinating."

"Not really," Clint scowled. Phil laughed a little.

"Have you eaten?"

"Had some jerky on the flight a few hours ago."

"Why don't you get cleaned up and meet me in the mess in," Phil glanced at his watch, "thirty minutes for breakfast."

Clint twisted his own wrist to see his watch and nodded.

"SHIELD mess hall, _just_ what I've been missing," he muttered sarcastically.

Phil clapped him on the shoulder and handed back the bags. Clint headed in the direction of Residence Hall 9. He got a few odd looks as he made his way through the base. Probably because he looked a bit like a cave man. A caveman wearing black snow pants, a heavy weight black sweater, and a navy blue Yankees hat to cover what had become a mess of shaggy blonde hair.

A few others gave him a more derisive look. Probably because it was well known that he had disobeyed, well, _everyone_ almost a year ago and brought the most dangerous assassin to ever live into their midst.

He wondered how Romanoff was doing.

* * *

The residence hall finally came into sight and Clint nearly sighed in relief as he approached his bedroom door. He waited a little impatiently for the palm reader to identify his handprint and then pushed into his room for the first time in six weeks.

He dropped his bags on the bed, tossed his quiver and bow down beside them and then left a trail of clothes on the way to the bathroom. He basked in the warm water of the shower as it cascaded over him. He hadn't had a hot shower since last time he'd been on base. And it was _awesome_.

He finally dragged himself out of the shower and faced himself in the mirror. Shaving. That was first. He dug around in the sink drawer until he found a pair of scissors. He spent the next several minutes trimming the beard down until it was short enough to take a razor to. When he was finally smooth faced again, he regarded his thick shaggy hair with a frown. He was half tempted to just hack at it with the scissors until it was a manageable length again. Instead, he promised himself he'd go get it cut within the next day or so.

He went back into his room and retrieved clean boxers, a pair of old comfortable jeans, and a black t-shirt from his dresser. Annoyed with his long hair, he pulled his Yankees hat back on and then pulled on his socks and boots.

His stomach rumbled, reminding him his deadline for meeting Coulson was approaching. He left his room at a slight jog, eager to spend his four year anniversary of joining SHIELD properly.

That meant spending it with Phil.

* * *

"So, have I served my sentence?" Clint asked as he settled at the table with Phil and eyed his high protein oatmeal with a frown.

Phil rolled his eyes at the dramatic question.

"Don't roll your eyes," Clint scolded. "You know that's exactly what this whole year has been. One shit assignment after another. Before France, you and Fury had to deliberate over if an assignment was important enough to take me out of the rotation. Now I'm spending six weeks in a frozen hell watching what _might_ be a _former_ HYDRA compound to see if there was any activity." He spooned his oatmeal into his mouth. "And there _wasn't_. I spent six weeks watching snow fall."

"I told you there would be fall out when you made the choice you made."

Clint made a face and glanced towards the mess hall entrance as none other than Natasha Romanoff strode in. Phil followed his gaze and then turned back with a sigh.

"How's she been?" Clint asked, unabashedly watching the red head make her way through the mess line and then sit at the most secluded table she could find. Her green eyes flashed to meet his and he smiled slightly. Her eyes narrowed and she turned her attention to her food.

"She hasn't been lost without you, if that's what you're asking," Phil replied.

Clint pulled his gaze from Natasha to focus dryly on Phil.

"It's not. Who has she been sparring with?"

"Me. And I, for one, am glad you're back. She hits harder than you do."

Clint rolled his eyes.

"She's going to wipe the floor with me next time we spar. I've had nothing but a punching bag for six weeks."

"You say that like she doesn't wipe the floor with you normally."

Clint opened his mouth to protest, but knew it would be a lie. After her first month of training, it had become painfully apparent that Romanoff was far too skilled a fighter to practice sparring with the general population. Despite fervent objections from the Council, Fury had allowed Clint to become her permanent sparring partner. He'd really been the only option. The only one that could take what she dealt out and keep getting up. The only one that managed to give a little back to her as well.

They had little interaction outside of that, mostly because Clint had spent the last eleven months in and out of the base on shitty assignments. But when he was there, Clint had taken it on as a personal mission to start drawing her out of her steel reinforced shell.

So far he hadn't had much luck. He hadn't even gotten her to crack a smile.

He knew he'd succeed one day, if only because he was fairly certain he was more stubborn than she was. _Fairly_ certain.

"So you want to know the plan for today?" Phil asked.

Clint perked up a bit at the mention of what today was.

"Hit me. I could use some good news after the last six weeks."

Phil fished something out of his back pocket and held it up for Clint to see.

"Are those…"

"Tickets. Yankees at Devil Rays."

"At Devil Rays?" Clint arched an eyebrow, taking the tickets to examine them.

"Just my luck our boys are playing out of town this week. But I've arranged to get us on a flight down to Tampa and a car to drive to the ball park. We're going commercial and the flight leaves at ten."

"Commercial?" Clint questioned in confusion.

"Getting clearance for you to have access to a jet for anything other than a mission is _not_ happening right now. Fury still isn't your biggest fan at the moment. It was all I could do to get you the day off."

Clint nodded in understanding.

"We leaving out of JFK?"

Phil nodded.

"Flight is in three hours, we should probably be there by nine. It takes about an hour to get into to JFK from here. So we'll leave in an hour, okay?"

Clint nodded, smiling broadly. It wasn't Yankees at Yankee stadium, but it was the next best thing. Besides, he'd just figured out what he could do for Phil this year.

"You look like a fifteen year old with that hat and that hair," Phil pointed out as he loaded his dishes onto his tray.

"I need to get it cut, its driving me crazy," Clint replied, pulling off his hat and rubbing his hand through the shaggy strands.

"If we leave now, we can stop at Billy's place and get you taken care of," Phil suggested.

"Sounds good, I'll meet you in the garage in ten?"

Phil nodded and headed towards the exit. Clint carried his tray and his half eaten oatmeal over to the trash. He dumped the disposable bowl and stacked the tray on the cart next to the trash can. Then he walked straight for Natasha's table.

Her gaze snapped up to glare at him immediately, and kept glaring right up until he sat down across from her.

"Hey, Romanoff."

"Barton," she replied stiffly, eyeing his backwards hat and shaggy hair. "Didn't know you were back."

"Just got back about forty five minutes ago," he shrugged. "Miss me?" he teased lightly.

She arched a delicate eyebrow and gave him a painfully disinterested look.

"Careful there, I might get overwhelmed with your affection."

She spooned some of her oatmeal into her mouth. Ignoring Clint Barton was becoming a specialty of hers. She wasn't surprised when he kept going, undeterred. She'd learned from personal experience Clint Barton was rarely deterred by anything.

"As much as I know you're loving this conversation because I can't get you to shut up, I've got to get going. Phil and I are flying to Tampa."

He watched her eyebrow quirk in interest, but she didn't look up from her food.

"Good talk, Romanoff."

Clint patted his hand on the table and stood.

"See you tomorrow morning for sparring."

She nodded, watching him walk away.

Clint Barton had fascinated her from the first moment she'd realized he was following her. He'd been good, _really_ good and it was only her own skill that had let her notice him. He'd fascinated her more when she'd warned him off in an alley and realized he was the same bodyguard that had thwarted her when she'd tried to fulfill her contract a week prior. He'd pretty much blown her mind when he'd had her dead to rights, an arrow pointed at her heart, and instead of killing her offered to help her get out of Paris alive. She'd thought he was out of his mind when he'd _still_ helped her after she shot him.

Then he'd made her the offer that had brought her to where she was now and she'd realized Clint Barton wasn't crazy. He was just a really _good_ man who had decided she was worth saving. Who had seen something no one else had ever seen and decided to defy _everyone_. She didn't know what had changed his mind in that moment when he'd had an arrow drawn and aimed at her chest. But his eyes had shifted from stone cold and unreadable, to curious, to determined, and then back to stone cold and unreadable in a matter of seconds.

She wondered what he'd seen in those seconds.

Now as she watched him disappear out of the mess hall, she acknowledged that maybe she hadn't minded his irritating presence as much as she should. He was the _only_ person in this place that didn't look at her with fear. The only person that didn't look at her and see the Black Widow. Even the Director, Nick Fury, watched her warily, waiting for her to strike. Even Clint's beloved handler, Phil Coulson, never let his guard down when she was in the room.

Clint teased her. He made jokes and he laughed when she took him down in sparring. He'd made it a point to show her he believed her when she'd said she wanted to be better almost a year ago. He'd made an actual effort to show her that he believed she _could_ be better.

She didn't know why he cared so much. Why it mattered to him either way. A man like Clint Barton, who fought _for_ something, who was undeniably _good_ , couldn't understand the darkness inside her. He couldn't know what it meant to her to feel like she could make up for what she'd done, like she had a chance of one day wiping her ledger clean.

But for a man who could never understand, he seemed to understand perfectly.

Yeah, Clint Barton still fascinated her.

* * *

Clint rubbed his hand through his freshly cut hair and then pushed his baseball hat back into place. He glanced over at Phil, sitting in the seat next to him, also wearing a Yankees cap. They'd both changed before they left the base. Clint didn't know the last time he'd worn athletic shorts outside of training. But he did now, navy shorts and a white Yankees t-shirt. He'd even left his combat boots at home, wearing a new pair of Puma tennis shoes he'd bought a few months ago but hadn't really had a chance to wear. Phil was similarly dressed, but he wore khaki cargo shorts and a navy Yankees t-shirt.

"I picked this up for you last weekend, thought you might want to give this series a shot," Phil commented as he reached down to his backpack that was sitting between his legs and withdrew a book.

 _"The Chronicles of Narnia: The Lion, The Witch, and the Wardrobe_ ," Clint read off the front cover. "Narnia?"

"You'll see. You've never heard of it?"

"Didn't do a lot of reading before meeting you, Phil," Clint chuckled lightly, opening the hardcover book to the first page.

"Well you've got a three hour flight to see if you like it. I'm taking a nap."

"Sweet dreams, old man," Clint grinned, slipping his ear buds into place as the jet picked up speed on the runway. He was already immersed into the story before the plane even leveled out.

* * *

"Your hot dogs. Are you sure three was enough, because I could have gotten more?" Phil joked as he sat next to Clint and handed over three hotdogs and a large soda. Clint bit into one and hummed happily.

"Three's enough, but I'm definitely making a nacho run later."

Phil shook his head in amusement, watching as the fourth inning started to get under way. Derek Jeter walked up to the plate and Phil vaguely noticed Clint finish his first hotdog and move on to the second.

Jeter watched as the pitcher, James Shields, threw the ball. A moment later the umpire roared that it was 'ball one'.

The second pitch yielded the same result.

"He's got his number now," Clint muttered, mostly to himself.

Phil watched Shields throw the third pitch and stood right along with everyone else as Jeter's hit sailed towards center field.

"Go!" Phil cheered along with everyone else. Next to him, Clint was cheering too. Then the ball went over the wall and the Yankees crowd erupted in a chorus of whoops and yells.

"Holy shit, we just saw Derek Jeter hit a home run," Clint laughed as they sat back down.

"That we did," Phil smiled broadly too.

They waited as Alex Rodriguez stepped up to bat next. They winced when Rodriguez watched the first pitch fly by and the umpire called it a strike. They felt a moment of elation when he connected with the next one, but it flew foul. Rodriguez watched Shields throw one ball and then another. And then the Yankees crowd was on its feet again when he slammed the next one into deep left field. The New Yorkers erupted in cheers again when it sailed over the fence.

"Well Clint, we saw Derek Jeter _and_ Alex Rodriguez hit a home run."

"This is awesome, thank you so much, Phil," Clint nudged his arm with a grin.

"I figured you could use some down time after everything that's gone down lately. You've had a rough year."

"Like you said, I did it to myself, right?" Clint shrugged one shoulder.

Phil sighed, leaning back and the next Yankees batter step up.

"You made a tough call, Clint. I'm still not sure if it was the right one."

It was Clint's turn to sigh now.

"I'm not going to defend what I did. I still think it was the right call and I knew what I was getting myself into when I made it."

"I know you did," Phil acknowledged. "Which is the only reason that I'm supporting it because I know you wouldn't have done it without a reason. And I trust you enough to back you up."

"She'll prove me right, Phil. I know it."

"We'll know if that's true sooner than you think."

"How's that?" Clint asked frowning when the current batter went down swinging.

"Fury came to me with a proposition to partner you two."

Clint turned to look at him with wide eyed surprise.

"Say what?"

"He wants to make you two a team."

Clint blinked at him.

"You don't like the idea," he surmised knowingly.

"I'm not convinced she's loyal to SHIELD yet. She's done a few easy hits and hasn't run off, so that's something. But I just don't trust her, Clint."

Clint nodded, watching the next batter hit a high fly ball on the fourth pitch and get out. He couldn't argue with Phil because honestly he didn't trust Romanoff either. But he _did_ trust that she wanted to be better. That was enough for now.

All thoughts of Natasha were forgotten when the next batter cracked out a home run to centerfield and then Clint and Phil were on their feet again, cheering.

* * *

"Can I drive?" Clint asked as they neared the jeep Phil had rented.

"Sure?" Phil agreed readily, tossing him the keys.

"I've got somewhere I want to show you."

Phil's eyebrows rose in surprise.

"I'd ask where, but something tells me you wouldn't tell me."

"You're learning," Clint grinned.

Twenty minutes later he parked the jeep next to a large field.

"Another field?"

"This one's a little different," Clint replied, climbing out of the car. Phil followed, the curiosity overwhelming.

"When were you here?"

"May of 1996, June of '97, April of '98, and May of '99 and 2000."

"The circus," Phil realized, slightly awed. He could suddenly picture in his mind's eye this field covered by a large tent, maybe several tents with people milling about and carnival workers performing tricks.

"This field was a recurring site for Carson's while I was with them."

"Wow," Coulson shook his head, still awed. He could almost imagine a young Clint Barton doing fantastic shots with very first bow and arrow with the crowd chanting his stage name 'Hawkeye'.

"I didn't get you anything this year, but when I found out we were coming to the Tampa area, I figured I could show you this and tell you a little bit about those days instead."

"I'd like that," Phil agreed. Clint nodded and turned towards the open field.

"I knew a lot of pretty fantastic people in at Carson's. The most obvious being Zane Carson himself. He was an _interesting_ man. He had bright red hair that was wild and stuck up all over the place, but man the guy could laugh with the best of them. And he was a hell of a show man. He's the one actually caught me and Barney sneaking around in the beginning and told us we could stay. He was a nice guy, fair, but he didn't always have a backbone when he needed one."

"Sounds like a fascinating person."

"That he was," Clint laughed. "Then there was Marvi Sinclair, a total goofball. He was a juggler and walked the tight rope. But his real talent was acquiring things. Whatever you wanted, he could get it. He's the one that ended up getting me my fake papers so I could join the Army."

"Sounds like he's on someone's most wanted list," Phil kidded.

"Wouldn't doubt it," Clint agreed with a grin, turning to lean against the front of the jeep. Phil leaned back next to him. "Next there was Ana Milas and her daughter Kara. Ana was tough as nails. She didn't take shit from anyone, not even Carson. She was an acrobat and dancer. Man, she could dance like nothing I've ever seen and she was beautiful. She was one of those people that you knew had been through a lot, but still found it in them to be nice to people. Her daughter Kara was about eighteen when Barney and I showed up. She did the trapeze, danced with her mom, and was a killer acrobat. She was the kindest, sweetest girl you would ever meet and in a lot of ways a total pain in the ass big sister. She and Brit were trapeze partners and partners in _another_ sense, if you know what I mean," Clint waggled an eyebrow suggestively.

Phil smiled and huffed a laugh.

"Who was Brit?"

Clint smiled genuinely.

"Brit Allias was amazing. He was about twenty when I showed up, but he was the first one I ever talked to. Which is ironic because Brit was deaf."

Phil's eyebrows rose in shock.

"He found me sitting up in the rafters of the main tent one day, not the safest place to be hanging around, mind you. But instead of busting me, he sat down next to me and asked me my name. At first I was confused because his words sounded a little off and he had moved his hands while he spoke. He told me he was deaf and I was too curious to remember I wasn't talking to anyone."

Phil smiled softly, imagining a ten year old Clint's eyes lighting up in curiosity in the same way they did every so often now. Clint still had trouble fighting his curiosity. He found himself envying Brit for knowing Clint back then.

"He's the one that taught me to read lips, taught me sign language too. I don't know what it was about him, but for some reason I just liked him instantly. He and Kara taught me everything I know about acrobatics and believe it or not I could do the trapeze too. Even had an act where I shot my bow while swinging from one of the bars upside down."

Phil wasn't surprised by that at all.

"Brit was something else. I didn't even realize how much I counted on his friendship until I had walked away from it. He was there for me when Barney wasn't and I didn't even realize it. I was _blinded_ to who Barney had become and Brit didn't have it in him to show me what I was refusing to see."

"Sounds like he cared about you."

"He was a good man. He's the one that help me get over what happened with Jacobs," Clint nodded in agreement.

"Do you know what happened to him?"

Clint shook his head.

"I walked away when I was sixteen and never looked back until now."

Phil nodded. Clint made a face that might have resembled something like regret, but then he was shaking his head and the expression cleared.

"Then of course were the big names. Trickshot, also known as Buck Chisholm, and Swordsman, also known as Jacques Duquesne. I've told you about them."

Phil nodded, remembering the conversation on the flight home from the Andes three and a half years ago.

"God, I was so naïve back then," Clint shook his head. "Maybe I just didn't want to see what was right in front of me."

"What do you mean?"

"I worked closely with Swordsman. He was my mentor of sorts. I knew he was a bastard most of the time and an ass the rest of the time. I also knew he had an unhealthy obsession with money. But I never once thought he could steal from Zane. Sometimes I wish I had figured it out sooner, that maybe I could have stopped him before he pulled Barney in…" Clint trailed off, shaking his head. It was no use regretting what he couldn't change.

"And Trickshot?" Phil asked, wanting to pull Clint away from the more painful memories.

"He was a good man, just obsessive. When he got it in his mind about something he couldn't be swayed. Not a good mix for someone as hard headed as I am."

Phil nodded. He could imagine that not going well.

"Anyway," Clint sighed, "there you go, a peek into the Carson's Carnival of Traveling Wonders and the life of The Amazing Hawkeye."

"Sounds like a exciting time."

"That it was, Phil, that it was."

Phil stared out over the field with Clint, both seeing their own version of the past.

* * *

The Yankees won against the Devil Rays that day 7 to 3. When they got back to New York, Phil bought Clint the rest of the Chronicles of Narnia series on the way back from the airport and wasn't really surprised when Clint asked him the following morning at breakfast who would win in a fight between Aslan and Gandalf.

* * *

_End of Year Four_

_In Year Five, Natasha is actually with them, kind of at least. She'll have warmed up a little too._

_Hope you enjoyed!_

_I love comments like Clint loves sugar_


End file.
